


(You Love All Sailors) But Hate the Beach

by TheDruidIsIn



Series: The Violet Hour: Oh, to be wicked or to be sweet [5]
Category: Horror Fandom, Slasher Fandom - Fandom, Sweeney Todd (2007)
Genre: Acquaintances to Lovers, Cunnilingus, Dacryphilia, Dirty Talk, Don’t worry, F/M, French Kissing, Friends to Lovers, Gags, In which OC is also a killer, Keeping Quiet, Masturbation, Mentions of Blood, Murder murder most foul, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, NOT a slowburn, Nipple Licking, Oral Sex, Pearl Necklace, Quiet Sex, Rough Sex, Squirting, Sweeney’s apron, The major character death mentioned is Lucy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes, Victorian Fashion, Victorian Melodrama, murder mention, nipple sucking, on the floor, or an attempt of it anyway, pulling out, this fic isn’t out to hurt you, weird Victorian sexual repression mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDruidIsIn/pseuds/TheDruidIsIn
Summary: In which MC is wearing a gifted apron while Sweeney/Benjamin and MC are cleaning up the evidence of his latest kill and they enter into their relationship.
Relationships: Benjamin Barker/Original Female Character(s), Benjamin Barker/Reader, Sweeney Todd/Original Female Character(s), Sweeney Todd/Reader
Series: The Violet Hour: Oh, to be wicked or to be sweet [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939786
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	(You Love All Sailors) But Hate the Beach

**Author's Note:**

> In my mind, Lucy is actually dead. No hard feelings against her, it’s just convenient for this mini fic universe.

I could feel Sweeney—Benjamin, really—watching me as he wiped down his blades and I helped him clean up a bit of blood that had dripped onto the floorboards before it could stain. I wore one of the aprons he gifted me to avoid soiling my dress with anything incriminating. When he spoke, his voice held a hint of curiosity. “I‘ve heard talk of you amongst my clients.”

I didn’t look up from my scrubbing. My eyebrows rose. “Oh?” 

He hummed quietly. “Yes, quite a bit, actually. Your sister was rather lax in divulging details of your past, so I decided to ask the men that I encounter most frequently.”

I chuckled with dark amusement, tracking his movements out of the corner of my eye. “You ask the men you slaughter about me?”

Benjamin carefully put his tools away and leaned against the barbering chair, crossing one ankle over the other. “Well, why must they serve only one purpose?”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” I conceded. 

“Yes, well. They call you the Black Dahlia of Wales.”

My hands slowed, though I refrained from stopping my work completely. I spoke softly. “Do you know why?” 

“I assumed you came from Wales. Nellie is only your _half_ sister, after all. You’ve different mothers.”

I shook my head, finally giving up on cleaning and any pretense as I met his glimmering intent gaze. “It’s where my first husband died.”

His focus sharpened, the look in his eyes growing more intense as he continued to study me. “First?” He prompted, head tilting to the side. It seemed almost as if he _knew_ , but wanted me to take us there. 

I rose to my feet with the cleaning rag in hand, dusting off my apron. “The first of seven, each, as I’m sure you’ve heard, of substantial land, wealth, or title.”

Benjamin straightened from his position and drifted closer to me. “Mm, yes, I know all about that, and each dying mysteriously, no two the same. A hunting accident, a heart attack, a wasting sickness, a drowning, I could go on but won’t for the sake of brevity.”

I shrugged, unconsciously drawn closer to him. “Despite what people may say of me they’ve little fact. Many still suspect that my husbands left this earth by my hand and not God’s, but not one of them could ever prove a thing.”

Somehow we continued closing in on each other, like magnetism, like a moth to a flame. “That just means you were careful, my dear.”

My lips pressed together in a thin line. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I never harmed any of them.”

He extended his hand, gingerly resting it on my upper arm. “What I want to know is why—why would someone kill their spouse?”

I sensed the challenge behind the facade of calm. “If I were to venture a guess—hypothetically, of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated. “Hypothetically.”

“I would say that one might if they found their spouse disagreeable. Not everyone is so fortunate to find love in their union as you did once, Sweeney.” 

He snorted. “It must surely be more than a bit of disagreeableness,” he ventured. “People wed disagreeable spouses all the time, for money, for titles, for land or alliances.”

His dark eyes were like two swatches of the night sky. I couldn’t stop myself from getting lost in them momentarily. “Then perhaps they were despicable men. Pathetic, cruel wretches who preyed on women with less power of their own than I have, and who tried to exert their violent or poisonous influence over their wife while expecting her to lie down and take it.” 

Those tantalizing eyes of his darkened further with some emotion I couldn’t decipher. I noticed that his gaze flickered briefly to my lips. “And they were all cruel, all seven of them? Did they deserve their fates?”

I hesitantly reached out to ghost my fingers over his cheek. “Not just cruel, but all like _him_ , like Judge Turpin—” I spat the name, my lip curling in a sneer. “Terrible, loathsome men in every way imaginable who hurt any woman they came across. Believe me when I tell you they got only what they gave.”

The second time his attention strayed to my lips, I closed the distance between us, my head tipped back so that if he lowered his own, his lips would descend onto mine. “Forgive me my forwardness, but I’m not blind. I see the way you’ve been watching me.”

Something dangerous glinted for a moment in those swarthy depths. “Have you now?”

“Yes,” I replied feelingly, truthfully. “I think that we’ve both experienced enough in our lives to recognize desire, even in such a prudish society as this.”

“You think I desire you?” His words spoke of denial, but the husky, breathless quality of his voice and the increasingly obvious bulge in his trousers spoke to the contrary. 

I laid my other hand on his chest, refusing to pretend otherwise. “I know you do.”

“Even if I did,” he started, “how can you ask me to betray the memory of my wife?”

I caught his free hand and twined our fingers. 

“I don’t think she’d see it as a betrayal. I think she would be glad to know that you had found love, or at least companionship, again, so you wouldn’t spend the rest of your life alone.”

“I can only hope,” he muttered darkly, “for I have found— _something_.” 

He seemed somehow paler, gaunter, _haunted_ as he bent his neck to press a kiss to my lips. My eyelids squeezed tightly closed for a moment. As I opened my eyes again, I met with a smoldering expression from Benjamin. As much as I wanted to continue, I also had my wits about me. When he broke the kiss to gauge my reaction, I placed a finger on his lips. “Hold that thought,” I whispered. 

I slipped out of his arms and moved quickly around the room, twitching the drapes into place and locking the door. I turned from the door to find that he had followed me there. I leaned back into the wood, trapped between it and his body as he pressed into me. I could feel his hardness between us, begging to be freed. “And you want this?” Benjamin muttered. “With me?”

I slid my hand between us to run my fingers along his length. “Yes,” I murmured, licking my lips. Slightly louder, I tried to reassure him. “Don't worry about my virtue. I’ve known a man before.”

“Only natural,” he remarked, framing my body with his arms on either side of me and jutting his cock into the palm of my hand. “You’ve had seven husbands, though I take it none of them pleased you?”

My nose wrinkled with distaste. “No. They were vile. I could barely tolerate the thought of them, let alone anything more. Each of them heaving their disgusting carcasses on top of me nearly made me ill.”

He bent his neck to trail his nose along my throat, inhaling the scent of my skin. He pressed his second kiss to my pulse-point. His hand brushed against the front of my dress, trailing down to my thighs. He worked his fingers between their apex, rubbing gently at the spot I often caressed at night in my bed until I brought pleasure to myself. His words buzzed against my skin.“Would you like mine, then? My touch?” 

I gasped softly, unable to stop my hips from rolling. “Very much so, Sweeney.”

He pulled back an inch, his hands leaving me and going to the fastenings of his trousers. “We both know my true origins,” he chided lightly. “Let’s not pretend.”

I lowered my voice as if half of London were listening in on us—and perhaps they were. Who knew what spies were about listening at keyholes? “Benjamin.” His name on my tongue made me shiver. I swallowed thickly. “Take me.”

“Oh, I intend to,” he promised with a dark smirk, stepping back enough that I could pass him easily. “If you would be so kind as to divest yourself of this lovely dress and all those trappings to your chemise and drawers.” 

Feeling myself clench inside as I walked past him, I began the arduous task of removing each outer garment. His eyes followed every movement, hand in his trousers. A barely audible moan fell from his lips when I finally freed myself from my corset. I laid on the floor, then, away from the trapdoor that led to the meat pie room. He joined me, sinking to his knees at my side. His dark glistening eyes met mine as he pushed aside the loose fabric of the drawers and dipped his fingers into the open seam. My back arched up off of the floor as the slender digits gingerly entered me. It felt very different to have the fingers of another and not my own exploring the darkness and heat between my thighs. He withdrew them and tugged my bloomers down to gather around my knees. 

I blushed under the sudden exposure and the scrutiny. He stroked my bare inner thigh, crouching so close that his breath ghosted over the little nub that sent me spiraling at night. I felt a fluttering inside of me, the sensation of moisture gathering, and a warmth pooling low in my abdomen. “Has anyone ever tasted you, Dahlia?”

“Tasted me...?”

“Yes. When I—” he cut himself off and had to start again, sounding choked with emotion. “In the past, when I made love to Lucy—” here his voice hitched just slightly when mentioning his deceased wife “—her pleasure was always paramount for me. That may sound unusual, but I truly loved her deeply and wanted to bring her joy in every way possible.”

He brought his head lower until his tongue slipped into me, pushing carefully past my flushed lower lips, and I thought I would die from the sensation of him running it up the length of my entrance. He flicked his tongue so that it tapped against the aching bud at the top and I cried out involuntarily, my thighs dragging against his cheeks as my hips jerked my body toward him. One of his arms settled over my waist to try to hold me down as he continued, his fingers slipping back into me as he continued flicking his tongue. Before I knew it I felt myself squeezing his fingers from the inside. His mouth came away from me after it happened twice more. I stared in fascination at his face, where I could see wetness glistening on his nose, lips, and chin. As I watched, he slowly licked his lips and each of his fingers clean, then used his fingers to scoop the moisture off of his face and into his mouth. Unbidden my hand lowered between my thighs, fingers finding the nub with ease. 

His eyes lit up with lust. He worked his trousers down his thighs until he freed himself, larger and thicker than any of my husbands, girthy with a bulbous tip. “Yes, keep pleasuring yourself,” he murmured, “that will make this all the better.”

He dropped forward over me, hand on either side of my head, his length poking into my thigh. He shifted his weight to one side momentarily to use one hand to push my chemise up past my breasts. He took one into his mouth and palmed the other, stroking the nipple between thumb and forefinger as he shifted his weight again and surged forward, gliding into me. My gasp turned into a moan, my legs falling away and spreading further apart. I couldn’t feel ashamed or whorish at the moment, not with Benjamin between my legs, his hips rolling as he thrust into me. His mouth came off of my nipple with a scrape of teeth followed by a suckling motion. “Here lies the Black Dahlia of Wales, spreading her legs for Sweeney Todd,” he whispered, a mad, devious, lecherous glint in his eye. He drew my other nipple into his mouth. 

“Oh, Benjamin,” I sighed softly, just as quiet, trying to keep my voice low so Nellie wouldn’t hear us and come to investigate. Every once in a while I could feel myself pleasantly gripping him tightly from inside of me through waves of pleasure, clamping onto him as he continued to move within me. His mouth eventually came away from my nipple. He kissed me again, prodding against my lips until his tongue pushed through, filling my mouth. When he broke the kiss softly, licking at my lips, he straightened up and laid my legs over his shoulders, a hand going to each breast. I gazed at him curiously until he started moving, when a rather loud, telling, gasping moan immediately escaped. His penetration of me bit deeper and from a different angle, one that seemed to electrify every nerve. I reached out desperately to hold onto something, settling on his forearms. He smirked down at me, clearly pleased with himself. “As much as I love every exquisite noise you make while I take you, we have to keep quiet,” he reminded me. 

“I know,” I panted. “It’s just—what you’re doing, I _can’t,_ Benjamin.”

“I’ll help you, then.” 

Before I could ask what he meant, his hands shifted so that one covered my mouth and one settled in the middle of my chest before replacing my hand where it lay earlier, rubbing his fingertips in a gentle circular motion. He met my eyes as he thrust again, harder than before. I tried to stifle my own cry but something still escaped, mercifully muffled by his hand. “Shh,” he murmured, “Take it all in silence or I simply have to stop. We wouldn’t want her finding out this way, with you laying all but naked on the floor with me sheathed inside of you.” 

I bit my lip as I silently convulsed, the strongest wave yet hitting me. 

He removed his hand to take time to untie his necktie and use it to gag me. “That should help, no?”

  
  


He picked up his pace then, hard, fast, completely unforgiving, pounding into me wetly with every snap forward of his hips. My breasts bounced with every jarring impact, my chest heaving. Tears gathered in the corner of my eyes, though not from distaste or pain. They seemed to excite Benjamin further, make him piston into me with even greater force and velocity. I nearly screamed when that blissful wave hit me again, and if not for his necktie it would have ripped its way out of me and hit the rafters. I glanced down in shock as a spurt of warm liquid left me and hit Benjamin. 

He groaned. “ _Fuck_.” He pulled out abruptly, his shaft slick and glistening with fluid, his fist traveling its length. “Touch yourself again.” 

I didn’t question his motives as I worked three fingers into myself past the third knuckle and rubbed circles on the painfully sensitive little button there, both wet to the touch. “Benjamin,” I moaned in a whisper, locking eyes with him. “Look at what you did to me.” I squirmed, my hands only stopping when more fluid squirted out of me and I could no longer stand a touch without crying. 

Benjamin watched with dark, hungry eyes, biting back an expressive moan at the end, his entire body jerking. His seed shot out in thick pearlescent ropes that landed on my stomach, breasts, and throat. His hand fell away from himself after a few minutes and he lay down next to me with a satisfied sigh. We turned to look at each other, his hand coming to rest on my cheek. I pressed a short but feeling kiss to his lips, staring into his eyes and once more feeling as if I were staring into the night sky. “We simply _must_ do that again,” he whispered against my lips. 

“Mm, yes,” I agreed, raising a hand to trace his jawline. “I think perhaps I’ve found something I’ve never had.”

He pressed his own kiss to my lips, slow, sensual. “Perhaps,” he murmured when he finally ended it, “I have found something I lost.”

I closed my eyes, fingers sliding into his hair. “Only time will tell.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I used this handy page to try to figure out MC/OC’s undressing for sexy times. Why were historical clothes so bloody complicated? It’s so much easier to get naked now. http://www.tudorlinks.com/treasury/articles/viewvictunder1.html


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